


Germaine

by Checkerbox



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Gen, fluffy father-daughter piece, very short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: Her father is a giant to her.





	Germaine

Her dad is a large man.

She knows this by the way his old, rickety wooden chair groans under his weight when they sit down to dinner. And by the way his shoulders take up the entire width of the entryway to their small home, so every time he returns she's treated to the sight of him trying to squirm his way through without breaking anything.

His armor clinks when he walks, and she sways her head to the rhythm of the sound when trailing after him.

Her dad is a powerful man. She knows. She's tried wearing just his helmet once when he wasn't looking, and it almost crushed her before he snatched it off her head.

He carries entire boxes of "provih jee ons" for them to eat into the house on just one arm, just one so he can lightly pat her on the head with his free hand as he passes her to the pantry. She squeals and grabs his wrist, and he easily swings her into the air so she can sit on his bicep too.

He is a large and powerful man, and she has learned not to doubt these facts.

She has learned through dark nights when the wind roared around their small shack of a home, and he came grumbling to his feet in a threadbare shirt and loosely tied pants to show her himself that there were no monsters so she could sleep.

And even on occasions when there really were monsters, when she trembled and hid because that's what he barked at her to do, he would always come back alone and victorious. Sometimes he would be covered in red, the same color as his armor.

There is little she remembers of the days when he pushed her away. When she was a mouth to feed and nothing more. All she knows now that remains of those days is the drinking, those times when he takes swigs from hard glass bottles and looks and her and cries. On nights such as those she curls up against his great chest until they both fall asleep.

Her dad is a large and powerful man, but she is unafraid.

As she grows less feeble, she waits for him to leave for the war front and plays with knives the length of her arm that he thinks he's kept tightly locked out of her reach, scrambling up the counter to get them. Sometimes she defends their larder against rats. More often she nicks her fingers and sobs until he comes home to scold her.

He'll lock his knives away more carefully next time, and he'll tell her over and over that he wants her to play safe, but it doesn't make a difference.

She is Germaine.

And she is going to be just like her dad when she grows up.

**Author's Note:**

> Got suckered into writing something short and sweet for Christmas.


End file.
